Innocence Lost
by UnOriginalOne
Summary: A lone white candle sits on the wooden desk. A single rose, blood red, stands upright, its stem encased in the narrow vase. What if Johanna Beckett wasn't the first? One shot.
**A/N: First attempt at writing Castle fic, and first attempt at writing in a long time, so please be gentle. Not the most pleasant of subject matter, but this based on real events and there's no sugar coating it. Constructive criticism is most welcome, it makes us all better writers. This is unbetaed, so any mistakes are my own.**

 **Anything you recognise I don't own.**

 _For Tiffany, Holly and Claudia. Girls this is your story xx._

Innocence Lost

A lone white candle sits on the wooden desk, the flame dancing in the air as it burns. Hot wax drips onto the surface of the desk, solidifying as it cools. A single rose, blood red, stands upright, its stem encased in the narrow vase. A group of students sit huddled together on the floor. The teacher, a young woman sits with them, a crumpled, soggy tissue clutched in her grasp as she too struggles to make sense of it all.

Seven year old Katherine Beckett, wipes at the tears falling freely from her eyes. She doesn't fully understand what happened. Her young mind barely able to comprehend that she'll never see her best friend again. She's not alone, most of her peers, the group of stunned children who have formed a tight circle around the young brunette, are almost too young to understand such a loss.

Johanna Beckett rushes through the classroom door, her heels tapping loudly against the wooden floor, announcing her arrival. Principal Taylor is following in her wake, calling the elder woman's name in an attempt to slow the distraught parent down. 'Oh Katie,' she says, carefully stepping around the tight circle of children, leaning down to pick up her silent daughter. Kate looks up, her eyes brimming with tears and she reaches up for her mother, winding her thin arms around her neck as she's carefully lifted from the ground. Parents of Kate's classmates start to file into the room, many trying to explain in the simplest way they know how that the bright young girl they all know and love won't be returning.

Soon, the classroom is empty, save for the lonely candle, and a solitary rose, the playful banter of young children a distant memory, their innocence stolen in one man's selfish act.

The frosty grass crunches beneath her feet as she approaches the granite slab. In her left hand she holds a colourful bouquet of pink flowers. A small purple bear is nestled in the floral arrangement, its little head and an arm poking through the flowers. She drops to her knees on the cold ground, ignoring the dampness that immediately soaks through her jeans, a chill running through her body as she settles in the short grass. Wiping at the tears that have begun forming, Kate carefully arranges the flowers in a large glass vase to the right of the headstone Reaching out, she traces the gold lettering, letting out a strangled sob as she still, after all this time, struggles to make sense out of this almost unbearable loss. Her eyes drift over to the top photo attached to the headstone, a pair of hazel eyes staring back at her. The young face is framed by curly brown hair, a bright smile adorning her face. Two other photos follow below, their innocence shining through their eyes.

'Hi girls,' she whispers, using the back of her hand to wipe at the tears that have leaked out of their ducts. 'Twenty-nine years, still feels like yesterday.' A hand comes to rest on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze as its owner struggles to comprehend gravity of what is before him.

The names etched in gold lettering are familiar to him. He remembers the case. A teenager at the time, the tragedy had made national headlines and he can recall the photos the emerged in the days following of the young children whose lives had been forever changed. He waits. This is her story to share.

'I was seven years old,' she starts, still unable to look at the man behind her. 'Claire and I were best friends.' She pauses, summoning up the strength to continue her story. 'She lived on our floor with her mum and sisters. They'd moved in after her parents split up. It was messy. He had the better lawyers and despite the abuse he'd inflicted on his wife, he was temporarily granted shared custody in the courts. That weekend they'd been at his house, he was living in Queens at the time. Monday, Claire never turned up at school.

'When Monday night came around and when he still hadn't dropped the girls back, she called the police.

'They found the girls bodies along with his in the house. Murder suicide. Claire was seven, Ashleigh, just four and little Brooke, still a baby,' she gestures to each of their pictures. 'They were all such beautiful girls.

'I remember going to school and there was a candle and a rose on Claire's desk. Principal Taylor was there. He sat us on the floor and told us that Claire wasn't going to be coming school anymore, that she was and her sisters were Angels now.' Kate's body shudders as she finally allows the tears to stream out unabated. He crouches down behind her, knees creaking in protest. Ignoring the sharp pain in his joints he takes the broken woman into his arms. She turns, pressing her face into his shoulder, muffling her cries. One hand runs up and down her back, its mate pulling her body tighter against his.

He can offer no words to reassure her. He can only hold her as she cries. Minutes later she starts to speak again, 'Everything that followed is a blur. I think my brain blocked out that pain. I can piece together bits and pieces, Mum coming to take me home. The Detectives who came to speak with Mum and Dad. I think they spoke to me too.

'But the funeral, I remember every second of that. The grief etched permanently onto their mothers face, the caskets topped high with flowers. The wintery chill that ran through the church. The hymns we sang, the prayers we recited. The musty smell of the old wooden pews.

'After the church service, we came out to the cemetery for a larger graveside service. Everyone from school was there. The funeral had been private, family and the closest of friends, but the cemetery was a chance for everyone who knew the girls to say goodbye.

'I remember the press waiting by the gate, trying to get photos of the family. Hounding the parents and children as they arrived. Dad carried me past, he wanted to shield me from the media, to give me time to come to terms with what had happened.'

She shifts in his arms, pressing a kiss to her fingers and letting them drift across each of the photographs before bringing them back to rest across the swell of her stomach. A beat later she moves to stand, pulling herself up off the cold ground, her stiff joints protesting the movement. He follows. Once upright he's quick to take her back into his arms under the pretence of shielding her from the bitter cold. Dropping his kiss to the exposed skin of her forehead, he finds his voice, 'I'm so sorry Kate.' His voice is barely above a whisper, 'To lose a friend like that,' he shakes his head, struggling to find the right words to say.

'You don't have to say anything,' she whispers, 'that's not why I bought you here.' She winds her fingers through his, bringing their joined hands down to rest on the swell of her stomach.

They stand together silently, each lost in their own thoughts. Kate is the first to move, stepping forward to press a kiss to the cold granite, 'Goodbye girls.' Taking his hand, she turns away from the slab of stone, the dewy grass squeaking under their feet as they return to the car, leaving her painful past behind them as they looked forward to their future.


End file.
